Inspector Iroh – Tales of Republic City
by FernandelDeLaFrance
Summary: It's not easy being Detective Zuko, especially when your beat happens to be the largest and most dangerous city in the world. Triads, muggers, revolutionaries, and squabbling citizens are just day-to-day business, but when an innocent woman ends up charred to a crisp, Zuko is determined to track down the killer. And then the new Avatar hits town... Experimental piece, Noir style.
1. Chapter One

**Inspector Iroh – Tales of Republic City**

**Chapter One  
**

…

I think that we can all agree that if there is _one_ thing anyone dislikes, it's getting a phone call at five o'clock in the morning.

_Drrrrrrring. _

I only dug my head deeper into the pillow, grumbling. Sleep is my God. I'm worshipping. Leave me alone.

_Drrrrrrring. _

It would appear that whoever had the brilliant idea of calling me at this ungodly hour was a heathen. I managed to free an arm from my bedcovers, grappling weakly for the bulky phone apparatus on my nightstand by sound alone. It was still dark outside. Spirits, I didn't even turn on the lights – I wouldn't trust myself to firebend this early in the morning. My eyebrows have an unfortunate tendency to end up singed.

_Drrrrrrring. _

Oh, _now_ that blasted thing is just taking the piss.

When I finally managed to pick up the receiver, I only gargled something into the mouthpiece that can best be approximated to a platypus-bear suffering violent stomach pains. In my opinion, I was perfectly excused. Apparently, the person on the other end thought differently.

_"I'm sorry, am I talking to someone human?"_

I groaned, muttering something unkind under my breath. "…Detective Zuko speaking."

_"I wasn't sure if that was you, but you seem grouchy enough to pass."_

I finally got enough of my wits together to recognize the dry woman's voice at the other end, distorted as it was through the phoneline. "Hello, Mai. Lovely of you to call, but it's kind of early."

_"No, really?"_ The voice at the other end spoke in a totally flat deadpan. _"I hadn't noticed the time, to be honest, considering that I was pulling the night shift. Again. Must have slipped my mind."_

I sighed, letting my head slam back down into the pillow. "…What do you want, Mai? I spent last night – no, _this_ night, actually – hunting down some Triple Threat Triad smugglers and putting them behind lock and bars. I'm tired."

_"Lock and key, you mean."_

"See? I'm already mixing up my sayings. _Tired_, I tell you."

_"How cute. We have a cold one for you."_

Apparently, Mai had never been born with a little thing that normal people called 'empathy'. Or perhaps she was just exhausted after another busy shift of handling the incoming calls that would flood the phone lines of the RCPD once night fell. From my long experience, I would have said it's a mixture of both, if only because I've never seen the secretary at headquarters so much as crack a smile in her entire life.

"Why call me?" I mumbled.

_"Because Detective Jee managed to get himself hospitalized when he took on a bunch of Triad thugs this night that outnumbered him four to one. If I recall, you were involved."_

Damn. I'd nearly forgotten that. "…How's he doing?"

_"According to the doctor, he'll live. I've set up a collection box for his wife and kids to tide them over for a while."_

That was nice of Mai. An officer injured in the line of duty still got half of their pay while they were stuck in bed, yeah, but it was still tough on their families, considering things like hospital costs, not to mention if they ended up crippled and unable to keep working.

A long time ago, I never would have thought that something as considerate as that could be spoken of in such a bored tone that it would put most picture divas to shame. Well, and then I met Mai, who never raised her voice for anything, never smiled, and never did anything without looking utterly bored and put-upon. Ever. In a way, she was very creepy.

But then again, maybe the pot shouldn't be calling the kettle black.

"All right, so remind me again why _I_, of all people, have to be on the scene now?"

There was a quiet sigh on the other end. _"Our metalbenders are all on the streets carrying out arrests and patrolling, and none of them have investigative skill to speak of, in any case. We need to send down someone with a straight head on their shoulders."_

"Since when do I fit the bill for that?"

_"Since Detective Jee was hospitalized and every other investigator in Homicide is busy handling other cases. Beggars can't be choosers."_

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "Well, aren't you trying to make me feel all warm and fuzzy today."

_"You're a firebender. 'Warm' is what you guys do, at least when you're not aiming for 'crispy'."_

Says the ice-cold daughter of a destitute Fire Nation noble. The irony was so thick that I probably could have butterred my morning toast with it. If I had time to even eat breakfast, that is.

I finally gave up. I was awake, and I probably wouldn't fall asleep again. If I could get some work in, why not?

"Fine," I grumbled. "What's this new case you've been blabbering on about?"

I could hear the rustle of paper on the other end of the line. _"Middle-aged woman found dead in her home. Apparently, she was the picture of good health right up until her death."_

"…Mind explaining to me why you seem so sure this was a homicide?"

_"Oh, that one's easy. She was burnt almost beyond recognition. Apparently, her husband had to identify her from a keepsake of hers. A necklace, I think."_

I couldn't help but wince as I sat up in bed, running a hand through my loose hair. "A firebender, huh? Great. Fantastic. Anything else that might be important?"

_"Metalbenders are already on scene and have established a cordon. They've started asking some questions, but mostly they're keeping the crime scene clean for you."_

"Wait, that's _it_? Nothing else?"

_"Hey, I only got the call twenty minutes ago. I'm not the one who is supposed to ask questions and hunt homicidal killers. Paperwork is far less tedious, if you ask me."_

"Haha," I said flatly. "Funny. Give me the address; I'll get there as soon as I can."

Mai rattled off the name of a street that was vaguely familiar to me. I jotted it down on a scrap of paper, then frowned when something at the edge of my mind nudged my sleep-riddled brain. "Wait a minute. That's down by the Eastern side of the bay, isn't it?"

_"Yeah, so?"_ she answered, still sounding incredibly bored.

"…You do realize that's been Water Tribe territory ever since Avatar Aang founded Republic City, right?"

_"I did receive an excellent education of our great city's glorious history, thank you very much for asking. Geography was included as well."_

I started to furiously knead the bridge of my nose with my free hand. "Good on you. Now, are you seriously suggesting that I, a _firebender_, am to go right into the middle of an angry, scared bunch of waterbenders with their families, and start asking uncomfortable questions about the death of one of their loved ones?"

_"That's how the police usually works. Great job, you're starting to get the hang of this. How many years have you been on the force?"_

"Enough that I'm starting to get gray hairs. Mai, are you crazy?! I'm not suicidal, you know!"

_"Could have fooled me, considering the stunts you pull. Well, either you go, or I tell Chief Bei Fong that you missed an opportunity to make yourself useful."_

Oh, that was just not fair.

"So, it's either go say hello to the Water Tribe—"

_"—or say hello to the Chief. What it'll be?"_

Curiously enough, I didn't have to think too long about that one. "Water Tribe."

_"So you _do_ have a survival instinct. Fascinating. I'll see you around, sunshine."_

And with that, she simply hung up, leaving me to glare powerlessly at the receiver.

Would you believe me if I told you that my day only got worse from there?

…

And… _Cut!_

Good day or good evening, ladies and gentlemen! How are you doing? If anyone is confused about this story, don't be, I'll explain my idea behind this right away.

I've always wanted to write something in the Noir style, and this idea hit me like a ton of bricks a while back. It's a crossover between _Avatar – The Last Airbender_ (the TV show, not the movie) and _The Legend of Korra_. I was a big fan of the original show, and I love the new one as well. Props to Nickelodeon, Brian Konietzko and Michael D. Martino for creating an entire universe that could keep me invested for hours and hours.

Now, the setting for _Legend of Korra_ is just perfect for a Noir story – there's cops, gangsters, steampunk science, social upheaval, badass martial arts, and let's not forget the trenchcoats and nifty hats. I just wanted to write something in the Noir style (first-person perspective, colourful metaphors, police investigations, sarcastic loner cops and the like) with all its great clichés, partly to practice my writing – and partly because it's great fun!

And so I thought of Detective Zuko, Republic City Police Department, hunting down criminals with his ever-present scowl and general badassitude. Think of this story this way: it's the _Korra_ universe, just with all the characters from _The Last Airbender_ added to it.

…I know that this screws with the Avatar continuity in far more ways than I can count, but I have a plan to work around that, believe me.

I need to point out one of my direct inspirations for this story: the _Inspector Iroh_ round-robin fancomic that was started over on DeviantArt by _TheArtrix_. It's great stuff, you should totally check it out. That's where the title to this story comes from, in case you're wondering.

In any case, I have a question for you, dear readers: do you think that this story has potential? I'm not too sure about it myself, but I would love to know what you guys think.

Thank you very much for reading. I hope you enjoyed it, and if you did (or didn't), please leave me a review. I hope you had as much fun reading it as I had writing it.


	2. Chapter Two

DO NOTE that this story IS NOT endorsed by the original holders of the intellectual rights or copyrights mentioned at the end of this chapter. This is a work of _fanfiction_ based on the original work and its associated franchise, with the intent to amuse and distract its readers. There is absolute no intent to make money or otherwise deny the original copyright holders their given due. Should the original holders of the copyright be offended by my use of their rightful property, I will gladly take it down in accordance with the Terms of Service of this website. Please support the official release(s) mentioned below.

…

**Inspector Iroh – Tales of Republic City**

**Chapter II**

…

One of the advantages of being a classically trained firebender (and by 'classically trained', I mean that I had to get up at five every morning since I was could walk to start breathing exercises and basic forms) is that you can roughly tell how much time is left until the sun rises.

It's a strange feeling, really. If you're not a firebender, then you're unlikely to ever understand – not fully, at least. And I was never that good at explaining things, unfortunately.

Still, let me give it a try.

Think of it like a flame burning in your chest, like liquid heat running through your veins, pooling into every pore, heating up every single muscle you have, allowing you greater flexibility and strength, warming you on cold nights when the sun is gone like no stove can. When the sun rises, that feeling becomes calmer, more controlled, more malleable – we firebenders can use our element at night, of course, but our greatest strength lies during the day, when the sun shines on us, feeding us its power, making us feel as if we are _burning_. Alive.

I sighed. Pity that most criminals didn't have the decency to commit their crimes in broad daylight. It would certainly make my job easier.

I quietly got out of bed, throwing back my bedcovers with an annoyed grunt as I debated whether to wake up Uncle. I finally decided against it – you know, as much as I enjoy to share my misery around, I wouldn't want to listen to one of his cryptic pieces of advice right now. I usually need about half a coffee pot's worth of caffeine until I can even start to grasp what the old codger is rambling on about.

Besides, Uncle wasn't the man he used to be. Getting injured in a war and seeing your own son killed before your very eyes by a bunch of fanatic separatists will do that to you.

I walked over to my window, tugging on the cord of the cheap venetian blinds and peering out between its slats. It was still night. The street outside was illuminated by the sickly yellow sheen of the streetlights erected at regular intervals. There was no light higher than twenty feet, though; the upper floors of the apartment buildings on our street were completely dark.

The exceptions, of course, were the small islets of lit windows as their inhabitants prepared to head to work. There were already a few people hurrying along on the sidewalk of our street, the collars of their jackets and coats thrown high or scarves wrapped around their necks, rubbing their shoulders to fight against the morning cold. Most people weren't lucky enough to get a job that started after sunrise, after all.

And apparently, I was one of the unlucky ones. Fantastic.

I quickly snuck out into the corridor and into the bathroom, washed up, and got dressed. No uniform today, no armor either – I've never really felt comfortable wearing either. Chalk it up to me being the son of a mobster, a man with a nasty tendency to barbecue anyone that pissed him off or even looked at him queerly, but I always felt like I was having a big, glowing bull's eye painted on my back, just begging for someone to kick me in the backside.

And no, I am _not_ paranoid. Not at all. Paranoia implies that you're under the _delusion_ that someone is trying to harm you. This is Republic City, and I'm a cop. Nothing delusional about folks trying to kill me on a regular basis, I can guarantee you that.

I quickly got dressed in my civvies, wondering what would be appropriate for the job at hand. I finally settled on my old, thigh-length beige duster. It had been a present from Uncle when I finally made it into the Police Academy a few years ago, and it wouldn't restrict my movements too much if I got into a scrap.

…What? Hey, I was planning to go talk to a bunch of tired, angry, and grieving waterbenders on their home turf, and they were indisposed to firebenders like me at the best of times. I wasn't taking any chances. I would have been crazy not to. Well, crazier.

I grabbed my double-hooked _jitte_ of office, hung it inside my coat, and then quietly tiptoed back into the living room. I moved towards the door, pausing as I heard the slight shift of air inside the room.

"It's a bit early for nighttime escapades," a deep voice grumbled, amused.

I sighed, turning around. "Uncle. You should be sleeping."

"Ah, nonsense," the old man answered, grinning as he limped into sight. He looked cheerful enough, though you could never really tell if it was genuine or not. Still, those bags under his eyes didn't look healthy. "You know I have trouble sleeping, nephew."

"An even better reason for you to catch up on the little sleep you actually _get_."

Uncle laughed, an amused glint in his eye as he studied me, his good humor taking away a few years' worth of wrinkles from his face. "Well, that new phone of yours is not exactly subtle, either. What noise! Those machines are getting more and more elaborate these days. Fascinating, don't you think?"

I shrugged. "'S long they it works, I'm not going to question how. Now, I would absolutely _love_ to chat, but I've got work to do."

Uncle's smile faded. I'm in Homicide. When I get called out for work, it's already too late for someone else. "Oh dear," he muttered, stroking his grey beard thoughtfully. "Anyone we know?"

"Don't think so. Civilian woman murdered in her home. Water Tribe, apparently. I have nothing else on the victim yet."

"Probably a routine case, then." Uncle sighed wearily, limping back into the kitchen. "A cup of tea, and then I'll get to work myself."

"Take it easy, Uncle," I warned him. "You shouldn't overexert yourself."

"I know, I know, but killings usually mean only more overtime for us…"

I heard someone put up the kettle of the stove, and idly wondered what crazy concoction Uncle was going to come up with next. Last time he had offered me some, there'd been some sort of aphrodisiac in it. Not exactly my most treasured of memories.

I nodded gloomily. "Yeah, but when do we ever _not_ work overtime, Uncle?"

Another genuinely amused belly laugh from the kitchen proved that I seemed to have hit the nail on the head, whatever it may have been. I couldn't help but smirk to myself as I opened the door. "See you around, Inspector Iroh."

I didn't hear his answer, as I was already halfway down the stairs a moment later.

I had a tram to catch.

…

It took me a good twenty minutes to get from my apartment to the harbor, and then another hour until the ferry had finally crossed the bay. I couldn't help but grumble as I sat at the guardrail of the small ship, the old engine punching out thick wafts of dark smoke into the brightening sky. This was taking way too long.

I probably could have flagged down one of the airships the Chief's metalbenders used, but those were to be exclusively used for heavy-duty arrests and patrol jobs. No free rides, apparently.

Well, fine by me. I was always more of a fan of traditional legwork, in any case. Walk along a street and watch its people, and you'll find out more about what's going on than the guys that drop down from an airship with heavy armor and a bad attitude.

And besides, sometimes you came across moments that made all the cramps and fatigue worth it. Like this one now.

There's something magical about the sea, you know. The way the water is completely calm one moment and raging the next, and you just watch it as the bowsprit of your boat cuts through the waves, throwing up white foam and spray that tickles your nose. And when the sun rises, the water reflects its light in all these weird colors as the shadows of the night finally, reluctantly draw back, each droplet acting like a scintillating prism that can put any mirrors to shame with their beauty.

And on both sides of the bay, you can see the sun falling on Republic City, slowly illuminating the skyscrapers from top to bottom until the whole city is bathed in the light of a new day.

I couldn't help but smile to myself as I watched the sun rise, and I started to relax. The sun was back. My fire was back, stronger than ever, warming me against the cold wind of the sea that cut across my face.

You don't need to be a waterbender to see why people love the sea. And you don't need to be a firebender to appreciate the gifts of the sun.

I touched the scarred half of my face, my smile falling slightly. Unsurprisingly, I don't feel much on that side of my face anymore. If you poke me hard enough, I'll notice, but anything else – the wind, the rain, tears, someone brushing their fingers against it… Nothing.

It's like wearing a mask over your skin. Unnatural.

"Oi, guv'nor!"

I startled, swiveling around to see the skipper of the ferry wave at me from behind the boat's wheel. "Yeah?"

"Where ya getting off?" the man called out, grinning. "Perhaps I can get'cha closer! Don't got no other customers, anyway!"

I glanced around, and indeed, I was the only one on board the small ferry. Huh. Weird. I didn't really notice.

I shook my head, bemused. Well, if those were supposed to be the mad observational skills of a detective, I think it might be easier if I resigned today. Of course, the Chief would probably _love_ that.

I gave the ferryman the name of the wharf closest to the victim's address, paid him a large tip when we finally got there (hey, I try to be a nice guy when I can, even if not exactly sociable), and leapt off onto the pier. Nice neighborhood – decent homes, solid construction, some greenery. From there, it was only a question of asking for the right way.

Unsurprisingly, I got a lot of queer looks from the people I crossed in the street. Hah. I'm not really surprised, to be honest. I mean, you see a guy like me turn up in the neighborhood? Spirits, I'd lock my door too.

Finally, though, I was able to find the right address, a home in the center of the district. Wasn't too difficult to spot, really. Metalbender wagon parked in front? Check. A few other assorted police Satomobiles parked along the road? Check. A few gawkers keeping a reasonable distance? Check. Big, scowling metalbender with crossed arms standing right outside the door and eyeballing anyone that stepped too close to it? Check, check, and check.

"Mornin', Sergeant Ling," I greeted the city's shiniest new door guard, waving. "How's standing around doing it for you?"

"Aha, aha," the metalbender said flatly, no trace of humor on his voice. No surprise, apparently the Chief personally beats it out of them on a regular basis in case it doesn't stick the first time. "You're late, Detective. We've been waiting for more than one and a half hours."

"Oh, shut it," I grumbled as I walked up to him, glaring. "I just got dragged out of bed after cuffing a bunch of Triad smugglers last night, and now I've got another cold one asking to be solved a few hours later. I am _not_ in the mood for your crap. Now, is there someone else I can talk to that's actually willing to talk to me this morning _without_ pissing me off and filling me with an irrational desire to see if I can cook you in your armor?"

The metalbender raised an eyebrow, but uncrossed his arms, sighing. "There's the husband of the victim," he said quietly. "Poor man's kind of out of it. We tried asking questions, but he wanted to wait for someone from Homicide until he told us anything."

Hmm. That man apparently had a clue about police procedure. Interesting. "Where's the vic?"

"Living room, first door on the right. Can't miss it. The husband's in the kitchen at the end of the corridor. Take it easy on him, will ya? It's been tough on him."

"I'll see what I can do."

No promises. If there's anything I have trouble with, it's playing nice.

"Holler if you need me," the metalbender said, stepping aside. There was a look in his eye that I have trouble identifying. There's something he's not telling me, I'm sure of it.

In the end, I just gave up trying to find out and briskly walked past him into the house, spotting the entrance to the living room barred by a crisscrossing row of bright yellow bands. Subtle.

"This is an outrage! Where is the detective I asked for an hour ago?! I am going to make a complaint!"

…Well, if a cop hears someone bellowing such a delightful phrase from the other end of the house, it's generally not a good sign.

I sighed. Time to run damage control.

"Sir, if you would please calm down—"

"Calm down?! My wife has been _murdered!_ How by the racoon spirit's overgrown balls am I supposed to keep calm? You tell me, young lady!"

"You know," I said loudly as I entered the kitchen, halting all conversation. "Usually, people that find their spouses murdered in the living room are not angry. Despairing, yes. Crying, yes. Angry? That's pretty rare."

The man sitting at the kitchen table drew himself up, glaring. "Who the _hell_ are you?!"

I reached into my pocket, flashing my badge. "Detective Zuko, Republic City Police Department. I'm in charge."

"And you're _late_," the man bit out angrily.

"Sorry, we're short-staffed." I studied the man before me as he glared angrily. He was a tall and broad-shouldered man, moving with the assured grace of a trained warrior, but he wasn't a waterbender – his movements werelooser, less controlled, and it looked as if he was subconsciously preparing to attack directly instead of countering the first blow.

And he was obviously Water Tribe – blue eyes, a thick goatee, his hair bound up in the wolftail that all adult Southerners and their descendants wear after they have proved that they are an adult. A traditionalist, then, though that word is so unfortunately charged these days.

I think I've seen him before, but I couldn't recall from where.

"Mind telling me your name?" I asked with what I thought was appropriate politeness, meaning very little of it. Like I said, I don't _do_ nice.

"My name," the man snarled out as he scowled at me, "is Hakoda of the Southern Water Tribe."

Hakoda. One of Republic City's five councilors. You know, the ones that actually _rule_ this city. The ones that represent entire tribes, cities, and nations. And technically, one of my bosses.

And there I was, mouthing off to him in his home after his wife had been brutally murdered.

Super.

…

_Avatar: The Last Airbender_ is an animated television series written by _Michael Dante DiMartino _and _Bryan Konietzko_ and originally broadcast on the US _Nickelodeon_ channel from February 2005 to July 2008. Three seasons of the series were produced.

_The Legend of Korra_ is its successor series, written by the same aforementioned authors, its first season originally premiering on Nickelodeon in April 2012. At the time of writing (September 2012), three more seasons have been announced.

Please support the official release, and be kind enough to leave a review.


	3. Chapter Three

DO NOTE that this story IS NOT endorsed by the original holders of the intellectual rights or copyrights mentioned at the end of this chapter. This is a work of _fanfiction_ based on the original work and its associated franchise, with the intent to amuse and distract its readers. There is absolute no intent to make money or otherwise deny the original copyright holders their given due. Should the original holders of the copyright be offended by my use of their rightful property, I will gladly take it down in accordance with the Terms of Service of this website. Please support the official release(s) mentioned below.

…

I'm terribly sorry that it took so long to post this chapter. It took a fair while for inspiration to hit me when it came to the crime scene. All of you who wanted CSI - Republic City, I hope you'll like what I have to offer. Thanks a lot for all the nice reviews, and above all - enjoy!

...

**Inspector Iroh – Tales of Republic City**

**Chapter III**

…

Fire is beautiful.

Not many people say that out loud these days, considering that there's still a lot of folks out there who have a bone to pick with the Fire Nation, or with benders in general, but that doesn't make it any less true.

Fire is beautiful because of the flickering shadows it paints onto the walls, black shapes that can tell entire stories by themselves without anyone saying a word. Fire is beautiful because of its many colors – a yellow candle flame, an orange campfire, a red-hot coal, or even a blue-white welding flame. Fire is beautiful because it allows man to forge, to build, to create. And when you're lost in the darkness on a cold night, there's nothing quite as beautiful as a warm torch or campfire in the distance to tell you you're finally coming home.

Fire is beautiful. I'll always believe that. I _know_ it, down to the tingles in my fingertips, down to the warmth flowing through my body, down to the heat in the very marrow of my bones.

But that doesn't mean fire isn't very, _very_ dangerous.

Case in point, our current victim.

I squatted down and carefully examined the carcass – unfortunately, there really was no other way to describe the now unrecognizable woman lying in a twisted, charred heap in the middle of Councilor Hakoda's lavishly furnished living room – being doubly careful not to disturb the victim any more than necessary.

Even if I'd tried, I couldn't have told you if she had once been a beautiful woman or not. Her body was literally burnt beyond recognition from head to toe. Most of her dark skin was now mottled red and white, bloody blisters that were already drying lancing along her arms and legs. Same for her now malformed torso – I gently touched it with a gloved hand, and I felt the telltale leathery texture that indicated third-degree burns.

I looked at her face last – that's always been the most difficult part for me, looking the victims in the eye, even if they can no longer see me – and met a black, charred, unrecognizable mess that only vaguely resembled the shape of a human face. It now looked more like a demented artist's parody of a woman's features, the flesh twisted by pain and the heat wringing the moisture from her flesh. The smell was absolutely awful – a mix of scorched meat, dried blood, and burned hair. I've never really gotten used to it.

I couldn't help but scowl. Whoever had done this had been vicious, far more vicious than necessary for a simple murder.

"Excuse me for a moment, I'm just gonna be sick," a small voice quaked, and I looked over my shoulder to see a young metalbender quickly leave the living room, his face suspiciously pale. The door slammed a few moments later, which spared us the sounds of him vomiting up his breakfast.

"New kid?" I asked Ling, who was standing just inside the room and watching me do my thing.

The burly police sergeant nodded, looking rather uncomfortable himself. "Yep. Just sworn in two days ago. His first homicide."

I stood up, sighing. "Well, it's bad luck that his first case is such a vicious one."

"You're telling me," Ling agreed, shifting in his armor as his brown eyes flew over the living room and the corpse in it. "Even gives _me_ the creeps, I gotta say, and I've been on the force for fifteen years. Seriously, who does this kind of thing?"

"No idea, but I'm planning on finding out. Now, just shut up and lemme think for a second."

"Your call, Sparky. If it's not too difficult, that is."

I shot him an annoyed look. "Who told you that name?"

The corners of Sergeant Ling's mouth crooked up, and I thought that he tried hard not to laugh in my face. "The Chief's niece came around HQ yesterday, looking for you. Asked for 'Sparky'. I gotta admit, it's a really catchy name. Kinda cute."

"I hate you all," I muttered, turning my back on him. "Don't you have better things to do instead of gossiping? Like buying donuts, or talking down a pissed-off Councilor?"

"Above my pay grade, Sparky. What else do we have busybodies like you for?"

"You're a real comedian, aren't you? Now, shut that trap of yours for a moment; you're lowering the IQ of the room just by talking."

"Well, considering it was just the two of us in here, it can't have been that high to start with."

I shot him a glare over my shoulder and held it.

Looking rather spooked, Ling made a zipping across his mouth. "Shutting up now."

I turned back around, smirking. Being horrifically scarred does have the occasional advantage. Rare, and it certainly doesn't outweigh the pain and looks I get on the street, but it happens.

I paced the room, looking at the body and the room from every angle, hands in the pockets of my coat. The room itself was lavishly furnished with a few couches and comfortable armchairs arranged around a beautifully carved coffee table, tribal trinkets and keepsakes hanging on the walls. Strange fusion of modernism and tradition, well lit by the morning sun shining through the large windows.

It would have been pretty and appealing, but the charred carcass lying splayed on the floor between one of the armchairs and the largest couch marred the picture. The coffee table itself had been tipped over, a few cups and small plates scattered on the floor.

"Huh…" I frowned. "Hey, Ling."

"Yeah?"

"When did Councilor Hakoda say he found the body, and how did he come across it?"

Ling looped his thumbs through his armored belt, his face scrunching up in thought. "Said he attended a meeting of the council last evening, and worked through the night in his office at City Hall. Only came back this morning, smelled something weird, saw his old lady lying around, and then called the cops as soon as he could, ranting about how somebody had broken in and murdered his wife." The sergeant shot me a reproachful look. "You know, questioning him would have been _a lot_ easier if you hadn't pissed him off."

"Something doesn't add up here," I said quietly.

"Really? What?"

I scratched my messy hair. I really needed a haircut, but you try finding the time as a cop. "If this had been a smash-and-grab gone wrong, then there would have to be _some_ damage to the house, right? A smashed window, or a broken lock, or something similar along those lines. Instead," I waved around the room, "we get a room that looks pretty normal. Well, except for a dead person lying around."

"True," Ling acknowledged. "Or perhaps the perp just picked a lock to get in."

I snorted. "Did you see that lock on the front door, Ling? That one's of the newer models from Cabbage Corp. Near impossible to pick, and if you do pull it off, you can usually see the scratches on the metal. I didn't see any scratches on the lock when I came in."

"How do you know about picking locks?" he asked suspiciously.

"Long story involving a stupid kid and his even stupider father. Moving on, take a look at this, too," I continued, pointing out the mess of smashed cups and plates next to the table. "If this had been a smash-and-grab gone wrong, then there would have been bigger signs of a struggle."

"Pretty much looks like a struggle to me, Sparky."

"Fair enough, but there's this too." I motioned him to squat down next to the pieces of broken porcelain, which he did with a sigh and creak of his armor. "What do you smell?"

He sniffed once, quickly standing back up with a scowl and holding his nose. "Disgusting! What the hell is that?!"

I grinned at him. "Whale blubber tea. Smells bad, doesn't it?"

He shot me an incredulous look. "How in Koh's name would you recognize something like that!?"

I grimaced, reliving an unhappy memory. "My uncle loves tea. More than is entirely healthy, if you ask me, but everyone needs a hobby. Believe me, whale blubber tea is one of the _least_ disgusting things he's had me try out."

The stench sticks in your memory. Your clothes, too. It took us a week of living with open windows until the air in our apartment was breathable again.

It wouldn't have been so bad, really, if Uncle hadn't pronounced the stuff "Delicious!" and immediately tried to brew it again. Took me _ages_ to convince him otherwise, spirits above and below.

"And what does that have to do with this case?" Ling asked, frowning.

"Well, do _you_ usually serve tea and biscuits when someone breaks into your house? Seems a little bit too friendly to me."

Ling's eyes widened in sudden comprehension as he understood what I was implying. "You're telling me that the victim knew our perp?"

I nodded. "That's what I'm thinking. Well, it's a plausible theory," I amended quickly, frowning to myself. "It's entirely possible that the murderer pretended to want to speak with the Councilor, and his wife just put out the tea and biscuits as they waited for Councilor Hakoda to come back. It would fit the time frame, too."

"Time frame?"

I carefully walked over to the corpse, ran a finger across one of many bloodied blisters and rubbed the blood between thumb and forefinger. "Blood coagulation."

Ling looked puzzled. "Say what?"

"The doctors down at the hospital are pretty big on this. I read a paper about it a few weeks ago. You know how when you cut yourself, it scabs over after a few days?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Well, the blood here's pretty thick and dry already," I explained, showing him the blood stuck on my glove. "See? The body's been exposed to the air for a while, and the wound has already clotted a bit. The paper I read called it 'haemostasis', or something like that. And by the state of the burns on her body… If you ask me, she's been dead for at least six hours, half a day tops. Last evening."

"Well, I'll be damned," Ling muttered, sounding reluctantly impressed as he jotted it all down in his notepad. "Okay, we have an estimated time of death. Anything else you can give us on the son of a bitch that did this?"

"Firebender. Definitely a firebender. A skilled one, too."

"What makes you say that?"

I walked back over to the body. "See those burns?" I said, pointing out the dead woman's chest and face. "What do you notice?"

"…They're darker than the rest?" he said dubiously.

"I can see why the Chief made you a sergeant; you're definitely cleverer than the rest of your metalheads." Before Ling could complain, I bulldozed on, drowning him out. "See, firebenders can't just conjure up enough firepower to cook someone to a crisp in an instant. It's not easy. Human flesh is far more difficult to burn than most people believe. Ever tried burning a pig? Squeals a lot when you burn it and it takes ages to die, thrashing around and the like."

"See, this is why we don't like having you in the break room," Ling interrupted, looking annoyed. "You always tell creepy stories."

"Sissy. Anyway, it takes a lot of power and concentration to kill someone instantly using firebending. Our murderer still managed to do it, though." I laid a hand on the couch, slowly drawing away a peel of charred leather. "The sofa's done for, admittedly, but the rest of the room is fine. The victim didn't thrash around too much; it looks as if she pretty much dropped instantly. If she hadn't died right away, there'd be more damage to the furniture. Hell, I've seen cases where a burning perp or victim managed to set an entire block on fire just running around screaming his head off until we could put him out."

"So…?"

I pointed at the charred face and badly burnt torso of the woman. "The face and the chest of the woman are burnt far worse than the rest. This looks like a normal three-step form that many firebenders use. First hit to the chest," my left fist snapped out, a small flame leaping from my knuckles to demonstrate, "once their defense is broken, second hit to the face," my right first snapped out, another small stream of fire jumping out, this time aimed higher, "and when they're disorientated, take your time to line up the finishing move."

I threw my arms back and then rotated them forward like a piston, bringing my wrists together. A larger burst of flame leapt out, flying like a thrown ball towards Ling. He yelped in surprise, but before he could jump back, the flames licking at his armor dissipated in the air around him.

"And that's how it happened. Probably. It takes both power and skill to make that basic form lethal, but it's possible. Whoever this guy is, he's dangerous." I smirked at Ling, crossing my arms. "Oh, and by the way? You scream like a little girl."

The rough-and-tumble sergeant that regularly kicked most of his metalbending subordinates right out of the ring during sparring practice looked at me, thoroughly offended. "I do _not_."

"Could have fooled me. Don't you have a reputation to maintain?"

"I do. How about I kick your ass all up and down this street to mend it, _Sparky_?"

I couldn't help but laugh. "I'm sure the Chief would just _love_ to hear you explain why you decided to start a fight right under a grieving councilor's nose. Before she dangles you out the window, that is. So, do you have all of that down?"

"Right, right, I've got it," Ling muttered under his breath, jotting down his final notes, studying them at arm's length a moment later. "So what now?"

"Well, I'm just going to question our dear Councilor and make sure that he doesn't light up a bonfire under our behinds with the Chief later," I said cheerfully, clapping a hand on Ling's shoulder and stepping past him into the hall. "You just hold the fort until forensics comes along and cleans this mess up. Should be enough for your shiny metal skull to handle, don't you think?"

"Oh, haha, aren't you being a funny guy," Ling said flatly, looking over the mess before him. "The girls must just love that sense of humor. Explains why you're always at the office, doesn't it?"

"No one appreciates my jokes," I muttered as I stepped out into the corridor.

Oh, well. I've despaired over worse things.

It was only then that I noticed the yelling outside.

"Now listen here, jackass! This is _my_ home! I grew up here! My room's on the first floor! That's my window right there! And considering that you just threw up all over my family's well-trimmed front lawn, I don't think you have any right to stop me from going in!"

"Sir, we have instructions about the press accessing a crime scene—"

"Screw your instructions! My mother's _dead_! Let me in, damn it!"

I sighed, throwing open the door and spotting the newbie looking very uncomfortable as he argued with a young, dark-skinned fellow with his hair tied up in the traditional Southern wolftail, a camera around his neck, and a furious expression on his face.

"You know, Sokka," I spoke up, silencing the argument (and the youth's increasingly creative insults), "you could have just called home and telling us you'd be coming, and then we wouldn't find you making a scene in front of the whole neighborhood."

"The neighborhood can kiss my ass," the councilor's son muttered rebelliously, shoving the surprised metalbender blocking him out of the way and walking up the stairs. "Can I come in _now_, or are you going to go all legal on me?"

I shrugged, following him into the parlor. "Even if I did, I couldn't stop you. You have a right to be here." My eyes laughed. "And besides, would _I_ stop you from doing something stupid and hotheaded?"

Sokka smirked faintly, though it looked more like a forced grimace. "I thought I was the one that usually stops you from doing something incredibly stupid."

"My turn, then." I grabbed his shoulder and turned him around before he could enter the living room. "Do yourself a favor, Sokka – don't go in there."

He glared at me, all pretenses at friendliness gone. Spirits, he looked _hurt_. "That's my _mom_ lying there, Zuko! You can't stop me from seeing her!"

"Not as a cop, no." My hand squeezed his shoulder tightly as I stared right back at him, trying to convey how serious I was about this. "I'm asking you as a friend not to go in there. You'll regret it."

…Yeah, I just realized that you know nothing about Sokka. My mistake.

Sokka, as you've probably realized by now, is Councilor Hakoda's eldest son. He always had a bit of a rebellious streak about him, and considering that he's always been slightly loopy and unconventional, he didn't fit in too well with the high society his dad frequented. As soon as he was done with school, he left home to become a reporter.

I first met him when he was chased down a street, buck naked, by a gang of thugs from one of the minor Triple Threat Triads, the poor guy screaming at the top of his voice and holding his camera over his head as the gangsters laid waste to the entire street trying to get him. We became sort-of buddies after I saved him from getting fried, buried, and drowned all at the same time. Good times.

He's now an investigative reporter for the _Republic City Herald_, a big-time newspaper in the city, and had otherwise been doing pretty well for himself for the last few years. We still meet each other over drinks or at the latest hotspots of trouble in town. When I need help with the latest news, he helps me out; when he needs some insider info from the police station or some backup for his work, I help him. I scratch his back, he scratches mine. Doesn't stop us from being friends.

And I was trying to be his friend now. Sokka had seen bad things happen to other people before, but if he walked in there, the last thing he'd remember of his mother would be her lying on the floor as a charred, bloodied _thing_. You don't want that as your last fond memory of your mother.

"…That bad?" he asked quietly as he studied my expression.

"Yeah."

He seemed to understand how I wanted to help him. He still threw off my hand from his shoulder, stepping back with his face set in a determined expression. "Sorry, buddy, but I gotta do this."

I sighed tiredly, smiling faintly at him. As stubborn as ever, even if it hurt him. "Can't really stop you, can I?"

When he finally saw his mother lying there on the ground, he froze up, just staring at her and saying nothing except choking out a half-strangled sob. I silently stepped out of the living room and motioned Ling to do the same.

No man likes to be seen crying in front of others.

…

"So," I said out loud as I skimmed over my notes, "let's just recap to make sure that I understood it all. You attended a late meeting of the United Republic Council."

"Yes."

"You then worked late at your office, doing paperwork and other administrative duties in your office at City Hall."

Hakoda nodded, looking rather annoyed at having me parrot his words back at him. Well, I can understand the feeling. Sometimes, I hate my job too. "Correct."

"Without calling home to tell your wife you were running late?" I asked, looking up and raising my sole remaining eyebrow.

Hakoda's eyes lost some of their sternness, and his broad shoulders slumped, ageing him by ten years. "I've had to do it before, Detective. Unfortunately, the administration of the United Republic and the city takes far more work and effort than I ever anticipated when I ran for office. Kya had… accepted it, for better or for worse." He sighed. "Had I known that I would never see my wife again…"

I nodded. "Fair enough," I answered, glancing at my notes. "Do you know anyone who could confirm seeing you staying that late at City Hall?"

"My secretary, of course," Hakoda said promptly.

"Did you and your wife have any fights or disputes recently?"

"Of course not! We loved each other very much, Detective." His eyes suddenly widened when he realized where my questioning was going. "Hold on just a minute! Are you implying that—"

"Right now, sir, I'm implying nothing at all," I interrupted calmly. "I'm only asking questions."

"_I did _not_ kill my wife!"_ Chief Hakoda roared, leaping to his feet and slamming his palms flat on the table, glaring at me with furious blue eyes. "How dare you even _suggest_ such a thing!"

"Dad, calm down!" Sokka shouted, grabbing his father by the shoulder and shaking him roughly. "That's not what Zuko meant!"

"Actually, that's exactly what I meant," I interrupted, stunning Sokka. My friend stared at me, horrified, and I quickly held up a hand to stall his outraged spluttering as I stared down Chief Hakoda.

The man looked angry, his chest heaving and his fingernails biting into the kitchen table as his hands gripped it tightly. He looked as if he was restraining himself from leaping and throttling me where I stood.

Good. That meant that he was genuinely offended at my accusation. Or a very good actor. Councilor Hakoda may have been a politician, but he had never been known to be particularly good at hiding what he thought. It had gotten him into trouble more that once.

"I believe you, Councilor," I said after a moment, averting my eyes and raising both my hands in apology. "I'm terribly sorry for offending you, but I had to be sure it wasn't you."

His furious expression became merely angrily puzzled as he stared at me. "Why?"

"Most cases of murder are either criminal acts gone wrong, like a mugging or break-in," I explained quietly, "or a domestic dispute that got out of hand. I had to make sure it wasn't the latter."

"I wasn't even here!" he protested.

"I said that I believed you, Councilor," I said placatingly. "Like I said, I just had to make sure. Besides, the murderer was a firebender. That excludes you from the pool of suspects immediately, considering that you have no bending talent at all."

Hakoda sank back into his seat, looking tired and angry. I never liked this part of the job. These people are usually hurt and angry after having lost a loved one to some brutal and violent act, and here I come, riling them up and digging into the wound to find out what happened. And I have no choice but to do it.

I have to be a bad guy to do good. Strange how the world works.

"Dad," Sokka spoke up. The father looked up at his son, who looked tired, his eyes red. "Zuko didn't mean anything by it. It's his job. Please understand."

"You trust him?" the Chief asked quietly.

"He saved my life."

Hakoda pondered this for a moment. "Alright," he finally said, turning to face me. "Here's my secretary's name and address," he continued, jotting it down on a scrap of paper. "She'll tell you anything you might want to know. She'll confirm I was there."

"Thank you." I pocketed the small note, hesitating. "…Sir, did your wife have any contacts with firebenders, or anyone else that might wish her harm?"

"She met many firebenders at official functions she attended with me," Hakoda said promptly, frowning. "But no one that would ever have thought of hurting her."

"I see."

"…Detective, my wife was a lovely woman," Hakoda suddenly spoke, surprising me. It was the first time he'd said anything without him answering one of my questions. "Beautiful, smart, and caring. All who met her appreciated her company, and there was no one who would have wanted her dead. Me, perhaps, but not her."

Interesting. I hadn't considered the political angle. I leant forwards, my mind running on overdrive. "Were you threatened recently? Blackmail, or perhaps a written threat?"

"No, nothing of the sort."

"Huh. Do you have a picture of her I could use?"

Hakoda rummaged in one of his pockets and took out a wallet, holding out a small picture to me. It was faded and dark, but the woman caught on it was clearly visible – dark complexion, black hair that was carefully groomed and tied past the sides of her head at her neck, and a serene, pleasant look about her as she smiled into the camera. She was pretty, though age had started to add a few wrinkles here and there. Definitely Southern Water Tribe.

"Blue eyes, I assume?"

"Yes. Beautiful blue eyes," Hakoda said wistfully, not reacting when I took the picture from him. I made suresure not to crease it in my pocket. He might want it back.

"…Thank you, Councilor," I said once it was clear he wasn't going to add anything else, rising from my seat and bowing in the traditional manner of the Fire Nation. "We'll contact you if we have any further questions. If you wish to tell us anything else you might know, you can contact me or one of my colleagues at the police headquarters."

"You're welcome," Hakoda said tiredly, not responding to my gesture. He seemed tired and worn.

I nodded at the young man standing beside him, who looked rather lost and helpless himself. "See you around, Sokka. You know where to find me."

I turned around to leave.

"Detective."

I stilled, slowly looking at Hakoda over my shoulder. He looked up at me, cold fire burning in his blue eyes. "Find whoever did this, Detective. Please. They killed my wife. I want to see them hang."

I smirked faintly at him. "You're not the only one."

And then I left, my hands in my pockets and my mind whirling with everything that I had learned so far.

…

_Avatar: The Last Airbender_ is an animated television series written by _Michael Dante DiMartino _and _Bryan Konietzko_ and originally broadcast on the US _Nickelodeon_ channel from February 2005 to July 2008. Three seasons of the series were produced.

_The Legend of Korra_ is its successor series, written by the same aforementioned authors, its first season originally premiering on Nickelodeon in April 2012. At the time of writing (September 2012), three more seasons have been announced.

Please support the official release, and be kind enough to leave a review.


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